


A Flaw In My Heart's Design

by lightedcigarette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Canon Relationship, One Night Stands, Orgasm Delay, Pining, Scenting, fantasies, handjob, plotless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightedcigarette/pseuds/lightedcigarette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is so done with the shit that is his unreturned feelings for Derek-fucking-Hale. He is so moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Someday You Will Be Loved

“I am far too old for this shit.” Stiles said to himself, irritably, as he left yet another pack meeting at the newly-renovated Hale house. With it’s refurnished interiors and hole-less roof, it was becoming the go-to place for the pack after school and during break.

Derek was being a cryptic asshole as usual, gruffly explaining about the witches situation in the area a few miles south of the pack territory. A schedule was set up for the werewolf members to patrol the borders of the territory over the coming weeks. Stiles, of course, wasn’t assigned anything, only being commanded (yes, not asked) to stay at home and out of trouble.

Nothing has changed on that end, Stiles thought. Derek Hale still treated him like a sixteen-year-old even though it’s been five years since they met in the woods. The only change happened on Stiles end, he had discovered, with morbid horror, that he started to have feelings for the grumpy Alpha. The worst part was realising that it wasn’t about Derek’s GQ-level hotness but the way he projected his authority during pack meetings, and the way he was calm during crisis, and the way he became crabbier as usual during the anniversary of the Hale fire. Stiles, good lord, had found himself in love with the older man, despite his obvious lack of interest.

 _I am supposed to be a twenty-one year old, fully functioning adult. I have a college degree and everything._ Stiles tried convincing himself that he was not turned on at the way Derek sometimes starred at him , like as if Stiles was being exceedingly infuriating with his mere presence.

It was one thing to have your affections unreturned, but it was another to have the object of your every spare thought look at you like you annoyed him with your every breath. And it was yet another thing to be feel oneself getting hard at the level of scrutiny.

The first thing Stiles did when he reached home was to flop face -down onto his quilted bedspread and let out the groan he had been keeping in for the entirety of the evening. Damn Derek and his white-fucking-henleys. The summer months were often the bane of Stiles’s existence. Derek often went about with clothes that barely concealed the V of his hips and god those abs. Stiles looked at his bedroom door briefly to ensure that it was locked before he unbuttoned his jeans and dragged the fly open. He was already hard, he was hard since mid-way into the meeting when Derek paused to take a drink and splattered some water carelessly on his goddamn clavicle. Stiles groaned at the memory, his fingers wrapped around his cotton-encased erection.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Stiles tried his best to shift his mind away from Derek as he fisted his cock, unwilling to give in to the idea that he could never get off now without picturing Derek fucking Hale. He tried picturing Chace Crawford, his TV crush, but moaned miserably as his brain morphed his blonde locks into Derek’s dark ones, and Chace’s cheerful face turned into the scowling that was so often shown on a certain alpha. Giving in to the inevitable, Stiles allowed himself his usual fantasy, of Derek pressing him against the wall with his hands held above his head as his mouth was ravaged. Shivering with arousal now, Stiles imagine his cock rubbing agains the thighs of Derek’s jeans, moaning with impending release as he pictured being jerked off by Derek’s callused palm. Helpless to stop his hips from canting upwards, Stiles came with a muffled shout, his mind dully remembering that he hadn’t prepared any tissue to catch his load, which had splattered all over his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is my first chapter. I am going to let you know that the fic will be filled shamelessly with all my favourite tropes. Enjoy! I will try to continue this as soon as I can!


	2. He Takes His Chance With What He's Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to forget. He tries to move on.

Ten on a Friday night and Stiles is at the hottest club in town (well, the only club in Beacon Hills) and he was positively miserable. Sure, he was sloshed with the watered down cranberry vodkas that Danny, who part-timed as a bartender, snuck him when the crowd wasn’t too busy. There was a cute guy at the other end of the bar who had been looking at Stiles like he wanted to do more than dance with him. All the elements of a great night out but Stiles was miserable and tormented. He didn’t want Cute Guy In Plaid. He wanted it to be stupid Derek Hale to look at him like he wanted to get in Stiles’ pants. He wanted him, his stupidly fitted tank top, and leather jacket.

Stiles wanted. But he had never gotten what he wanted, not in his love life anyway. He pined after Lydia Martin for most of his high school years (until the last few when he met Derek Hale, the fucker). Maybe it’s time to want someone else instead. Could I? Stiles thought, could I like someone else who maybe liked me back? Derek’s glare flashed in his mind and Stiles was overcome with determination. To change his life, to change anything and everything just to stop this pathetic pining that seems so willing to run his life until he is alone and still a virgin at age eighty.

With a final gulp of his drink, Stiles stood up and moved purposefully towards Cute Guy In Plaid. Cute Guy In Plaid was waiting, smirk deepening as Stiles made his way over. The rest of the night? Well, suffice to say that Stiles will no longer be a potential candidate if the witches who plague Beacon Hills wanted someone for a virgin sacrifice.

 _Getting laid was great, right?_ Stiles thought as he began his walk of shame back to his apartment. So why did he feel so empty? Oliver (also known as Cute Guy In Plaid) was a skilled bed companion. He had prepared Stiles with the patient gentleness of a saint (well probably not a saint considering what happened next) and it was so intense, Stiles almost cried while being pumped full of cock. Everything was a blank after that, with the help of a half-full bottle of Jack that led to a second round that had Stiles on his knees, his prostate milked for all its worth with Oliver’s deft fingers buried in his ass.

Stiles did not fall asleep after that, he couldn’t, not with this boy beside him. Sure, the sex tired him out but he just had a thing about sleeping in someone that wasn’t his bed, okay? Trying to bed as quiet as he could while pulling on his skinny jeans and that shirt Lydia was sure brought out the colour of his eyes, now a crumpled mess, Stiles left.

His ass felt sore and used, and lying on his bed, above his covers, Stiles gingerly prodded a finger around the tired muscle, flinching a little from sensation. His traitorous mind reminded him, you wished he was Derek, you wish it was Derek Hale opening you up and claiming what you always wanted him to take. Whimpering, Stiles fingered himself open, it wasn’t difficult as he was still loose from the night’s activity. Scrambling for the bottle of lube he kept by the bed, Stiles added another finger and gasped at the sensation and the picture in his head, of Derek between his legs, scissoring his strong, tanned fingers as he growled at Stiles’ wanton moans. It ended as quickly as it began, with Stiles coming on his own stomach in stripes of white and quickly falling asleep with thoughts of Derek licking him clean with a satisfied smirk.

Stiles fell asleep, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bookmarking and commenting. You guys are the best. <3


	3. I Will Possess Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: POINTLESS SMUT

During the pack meeting the next day, Stiles could feel Derek’s gaze the whole time, and he could tell that it was unnerving the rest of the pack as Scott shot him incredulous and confused looks (the latter being a common occurrence). Stiles couldn’t bring himself to even look at Derek, considering how he fell asleep last night. It was painful to know that his feelings will never returned, and it was too much to know that Derek barely tolerated his presence even in the company of the pack. _That’s right_ , Stiles thought bitterly, I am not pack. I will never be pack. Pack implies family, kinship and connection, none of which Stiles considered a description with the thinly veiled annoyance that he felt whenever he caught Derek’s stare.

Stiles was so lost in his self-pitying thoughts that when he looked up, he realised that the pack had already left and it was just him fiddling with his phone, pretending to take notes that was basically Derek’s name typed over and over. He looked up and cursed inwardly, the only people left in the den was Derek freaking Hale and himself. Trying to get out of the house with his dignity intact, Stiles assumed his nonchalant demeanour as he (tried to) strut towards the stairs.

He was almost home free when in the next second, he was shoved chest-first against the wall right next to the stairs. It was both familiar and sad, how much he missed this. How much he craved Derek Hale’s touch, even if it wasn’t out of affection.

“Who.” Stiles could feel Derek’s warm breath touch the nape of his neck. _Who? What?_ Then the realisation dawned on him. _No. No. No. No._ Stiles realised too late that Derek probably could smell Oliver on him, whats with the exchange of bodily fluids and all. While he was having his crisis internally, Derek kept him in place.

“I asked you a question.” Stiles could hear that the words were spoken through gritted teeth, and he struggled, in a vain attempt to get out of the impossibly strong hold that was Derek Hale’s forearms.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” From a young age, Stiles learnt that if he screws up, he would just deny any involvement whatsoever. Usually he would be let off with a warning with an exasperated sigh, whoever the other person was, and he felt that this could, would, work. _Deny. Deny. Deny._

Stiles felt Derek’s arms tighten on his shoulders.

“I am not a fool, Stiles, so stop treating me like one. Who. Was. He.”. The last three words were punctuated by insistent shoves against his shoulders, rubbing his already sore body against the hard brick wall.

Stiles had enough. He let all the fight go out of his body. And Derek, used to his struggling in all past instances, was so surprised that he actually let go. Successfully manoeuvring himself so that he was facing Derek again, Stiles spoke, with the conviction that he didn’t feel.

“Look, Mister Alpha, I don’t really know what’s gotten into you. But what I do with my private time is my own personal business. PERSONAL. With a capital P.” Derek looked like he was about to interrupt, so Stiles continued.

“I can tell as much that you hate me, Derek. I know that you are allowing me to be here because Scott wants me here. You don’t have to pretend that you care what happens to me. Or is this some warped sense of possessiveness? Am I some sort of pack pet, because god knows, I am not pack, you were very clear about that.” Stiles was sick and tired of feeling rejected by the only other person he was attracted to. He was tired and just wanted the rejection to be over and done with so that he could go someplace quiet and cry until his tears dried up.

What Derek said was so unexpected that Stiles finally looked up into his eyes.

“Of course you are pack. You have always been pack. How can you not know that? A pack pet? What the hell are you on about, Stiles?” Stiles felt vulnerable, exposed, now that his anger dissipated. It eased off as soon as Derek said that he was pack.

 _Derek thinks I am pack._ Stiles thought, dazed. He then noticed belatedly how close they were standing, their chests almost touching. And come to think of it, he could feel Derek’s chest touch his, just barely, every time he took a breath. Derek’s face may appear inscrutable to others, but Stiles was fluent in the lingo that was Derek Hale’s constipated emotional state. There was worry, and a uncontrollable hint of rage. Stiles should be afraid, after all, this was a powerful Alpha werewolf on his hands. But somehow, he knew that Derek’s barely concealed rage was not targeted at him.

“Is this about what I did last night? Look, Derek, I am an adult. It’s nice to know that you care, but a guy has got needs, okay? Besides, he’s no one important.”

_No one who mattered. Not like you._

Stiles tried his best to explain, his hands flailed about in an unsuccessful attempt at placating. He almost hit Derek in the face but found both his wrists caught in the next moment, pressed up above his head with a supernaturally strong hand. This new position placed Derek a lot closer to Stiles, they were pressed up against each other. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat as Derek leaned in, pressing himself impossibly close as he took a deep breath against Stiles throat. When Derek leaned back, his eyes were red and he looked like he was trying not to turn.

“You smell all wrong now.” The alpha growled. This was more wolf than Derek, Stiles could tell the difference. He could tell from the way Derek looked like he was trying his best to rein himself in, as if he was fighting a battle with his own instincts. Before Stiles could say anything, Derek crowded him against the wall again.

“Show me, Stiles, show me where he touched you.” An involuntary shiver ran through Stiles as he felt Derek nuzzled against his throat.

Stiles was too far gone on the combination of having Derek all pressed up against him to even start considering that this was all crazy. Derek didn’t want him why would he want Stiles.

Wordlessly, Stiles gestured in the general area of his body. Like a taunt, he spoke the next words, knowing that there would be a consequence.

“All over, Derek. He touched me all over.”

Stiles thought he would be prepared for what comes next, but the growl still startled him. He felt himself manhandled into a fireman’s carry and in the next moment, Stiles found himself on the couch, a very possessive werewolf looming over him, stroking him all over with punishing touches. Not satisfied with that, Stiles heard tearing and found himself exposed to cold air as his clothes were shredded off with the claws that emerged from the man above him.

Immediately aroused, Stiles felt exposed, with only his flimsily thin boxers shielding him from Derek’s heated gaze. Finally Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes, and what he saw both terrified and excited him to a higher degree, if that was even possible.

Unfettered want, contained in the gaze that was Derek’s red alpha eyes. Stiles felt like prey, like was about to be eaten alive. And the crazy part was Stiles didn’t even mind, not one little bit.

As if sensing Stiles submission, Derek reached out and tore off the last scrap of cloth. Leaving Stiles trembling naked body, Derek made fast work of his own clothing. Werewolf reflexes meant that Stiles found a very naked werewolf in front of him after less than five seconds.

If Stiles thought Derek couldn’t look better in leather and denim, he was glad to be proven wrong. Greedily looking his fill, Stiles took mental note of the way Derek’s pecs flex with every breath, moving downwards to the (unfair) toned abs and then the heavy bulk that was Derek’s cock.

Feeling his mouth water, Stiles licked his lips subconsciously, which earned him a deep growl from the man looming over him. The growl somehow felt like a shot of electricity through Stiles groin, and he moaned helplessly, hips thrusting upwards, seeking friction that simply wasn’t there. Stiles tried to hide the motion, not wanting to appear to eager, but Derek was having none of that. Stiles felt a large, warm hand close over his erection and let out a alarmingly embarrassing sound.

“Derek, I swear, if you don’t move your hand, I am gonna….” Stiles felt a pressure on the tip of his dick.

“You’re gonna, what, Stiles?” Derek smirked dangerously, his hand grasping Stile’s cock lightly, not allowing Stiles the extra pressure to move things to the next level.

Stiles groan of unfulfilled pleasured filled the den as he tried desperately to thrust against the loose grip on his dick. He was so hard, and felt the slick ooze of pre-cum flowing from the tip. Nostrils flaring, Derek seem to take pity on him, and tighter his grip, just a little. His effort was rewarded by a low moan from Stiles, and more hip thrusting.

“Fuck, Derek. Fuck, please, I beg you.” Stiles was sobbing for relieve, his cock was oversensitive from his little wanking session last night, and every contact of Derek’s warm hand on him was driving him a little closer to the edge. Stiles twisted and turned, his hands finding Derek’s shoulders and holding on while he tried to seek the friction he so much needed. He felt needy and wanton, his cock wet and throbbing.

“Please, Derek.” Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s face, not without his glasses, that were knocked askew in the whole ordeal. Removing his right hand from Derek’s shoulder, Stiles slid his palm against his own chest, stopping at his nipples, plucking and rolling the pink buds between his thumb and forefinger, until they were peaked and swollen, rolling his hips in the loose circle of Derek’s fist.

Suddenly relenting, Stiles felt his cock squeezed beyond his life, he let out a long moan as he felt himself get closer. The stimulation from his cock and nipples were too much, he’s going to come the next second.

Just as he felt himself on the vestiges of the highest pleasure, the pressure on his cock disappeared, and both his hands were once again captured in the iron grip of Derek’s right hand.

It was such sweet agony, being pushed all the way to the edge, almost reaching orgasm, and pulled back with all signs of stimulation removed from his tightly strung nerves. Stiles sobbed dryly, feeling tears spring forth and flowing down his face as he looked up at the blurry picture that was Derek’s smirking face.

“That’s right, Stiles.” Derek’s voice rumbled. “I am the only one who can make you feel this way. Remember that.”

Stiles would have given consent to anything right then and there. He nodded messily, thrusting his hips upwards.

“Anything. Yes, I would give everything to come. Please, Derek. I am yours, I am sorry. Please…please let me come.” As soon as he finished speaking, Stiles wrists were free and a wet heat engulfed his cock as Derek took him in his mouth. The relentless sucking (like everything else Derek does) made Stiles come so hard that his mind went blank, hands grasping for an anchor to hold him before he floated away into he avalanche of pleasure. Finally lending on Derek’s hair, he clumsily tangled his fingers in it and shot his load down Derek’s glorious, hot mouth.

Utterly spent, Stiles objected weakly as he felt Derek continued nibbling on his oversensitive cock. He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to carry him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, the smut took me a while to write. I would beg your forgiveness for the grammar as I had to get it out before I had to go to bed. Please do give me feedback and remarks, if any. Thank you once again for reading and subscribing.


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